


light the match to taste the heat

by Quill_and_muse



Series: Horny Hades Hustles [2]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Biting, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Hand & Finger Kink, Light BDSM, Office Sex, Oral Fixation, Other, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Tender Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29959233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quill_and_muse/pseuds/Quill_and_muse
Summary: They're such small gestures, that kiss and that feather-light trace of his knuckles over your skin, and yet they each leave behind a tiny ember yearning to grow into a hungry blaze.Tender and domestic feels in my self-indulgent Ares smut? It's more likely than you think.
Relationships: Ares (Hades Video Game) & Reader, Ares (Hades Video Game)/Reader
Series: Horny Hades Hustles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154300
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	light the match to taste the heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laissemoidanser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laissemoidanser/gifts).



> So Hel just **had** to draw [Ares in the sexiest of suits](https://twitter.com/leonorel7/status/1368917151466274821?s=20) and as a result of this as well as their wonderful support and creative input, this thing emerged. Bonus points for getting to outsource title generation to them as well! This one is from Sam Tinnesz's ["Play With Fire"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np02phdwrwk).
> 
> HEY SO UPDATE??? Hel? What the fuck you can't just draw [another beautiful Ares in a suit](https://twitter.com/leonorel7/status/1371460395131678722) while I'm writing smut about him? This is the absolute best, what can I say.

During your lunch break, you sit down behind one of the large, unused desks in Ares' office and rest your head on your arms. They are, admittedly, not exactly a good pillow, but you're tired enough to not mind much. Somehow, you slept very poorly tonight, and if it weren't for your alarm clock and Ares mercilessly stripping the blanket from you, you might have slept for at least an hour more. 

(You could have slept for longer, probably - but right now, you feel like one hour would be enough to catch up.) 

It is now noon, if the clock on the wall is to be believed, and you've since forgiven Ares his cruel methods of getting you out of bed today. (And to be honest, you weren't truly mad to begin with.) He's not truly a morning person, your Ares, he's just a man of discipline, and perhaps that is why he keeps on working now while you watch him through half-lidded, fond eyes. You could stay like this all day, gaze drifting towards him the same way a dog's devoted gaze follows their owner from a comfortable little rug by the fireplace. 

(Occasionally, you do just that, except the rug by the fireplace is really just your couch in the living room.)

Sometimes, each of you will be content to be left to your own devices. Sometimes, you'll come over to him, seeking the warmth and comfort of his body. Sometimes, he will be the one joining you instead. Today seems to be a mixture of all three: when your eyes close for what you hope won't be too long, Ares is still invested in his work. You wake, however, to gentle fingers carding through your hair, and instantly lean into his touch with a soft exhale. 

Today also seems to have been a good and interesting day for Ares, judging by the relaxed expression on his face: there is no crease in his brow, no concerns clouding his eyes. You don't move, and so he keeps brushing over your forehead, moving soft curls to the side. Your hair falls back down, even after he carefully tucks it behind your ear, but Ares doesn't seem to mind. For that matter, neither do you: You get to feel the tips of his fingers over and over again, interrupted only once when he presses his lips to your skin. They're such small gestures, that kiss and that feather-light trace of his knuckles over your skin, and yet they each leave behind a tiny ember yearning to grow into a hungry blaze. 

(You yearn as well, and so you lean into his touch, wanting more than just that. Ares doesn't initiate, stoking the flames instead - and perhaps it's not in spite, but because of that lightness that your pulse quickens, that your breaths begin to stutter.) 

You sit up, turn towards him, and when you glance up at him, you're met with a curled lip, a smile both tender and amused, and sanguine eyes studying your every movement. You look down, then close your eyes entirely, before whispering a plea through ragged, shivering breaths - and Ares' breath hitches. 

(His breaths are always even and steady, and so, you notice instantly.)

Ares slows, stills for a moment, and you hold still, too, eyes closed. 

If that light touch of his was already intense to no end, almost unbearably so, it pales entirely in comparison to Ares carding his fingers through your hair, drawing his fingernails over your scalp a few times, and even more so to the searing sting of him roughly dragging your head back. 

"Better?" he asks. You nod quietly. 

(Sometimes, your Ares prefers a verbal response over a gesture. Right now, you don't feel much like speaking, and so he leaves you be, gives you the freedom to communicate however you prefer. You love him for that - how could you not?) 

When Ares leans forward and kisses your exposed neck, a moan builds in your throat as your hands reach for his lapels to steady yourself, then drift to his shoulders, his arms, over the expanse of his chest - and when that kiss turns into a bite, sharp teeth sinking into soft skin, that moan escapes and oh, gods, please, you want more. 

Ares hears your prayer, it seems, because he keeps going, one kiss after another: at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, trailing up your pulse, against your jaw, behind your ear, his hand still tugging at your hair, and your chest heaves with every loud breath you take. You tip your head back as much as possible, exposing the column of your neck, until you're practically leaning up against the desk behind you. 

You don't know when it was that you stood up from your chair, whether Ares pulled you with him or whether you rose of your own accord, but you can't bring yourself to care about that when Ares slots his knee in between your legs. Your hips stutter forward, seeking any sort of friction. Ares chuckles, draws a hand up your waist, then sinks his teeth into your neck again. This time, it doesn't stay at a single bite: Ares keeps going, each of your gasps and whimpers spurring him on to mark you up until you feel hot tears burning against your eyelids. 

Even with his hand holding onto your hair, fingers painfully and deliberately tangled in it - Ares still uses his thumb to soothe over your skin. His other hand is next to yours, and you can feel the way his fingers drum a tense rhythm into the desk. 

(He's impatient, your Ares, he's someone who wants and desires just as strongly as you do. And still, sometimes he prefers to take his time, to wait, to keep stoking your flames until you're overflowing on feverish pleasure.)

Eventually, the tension at the back of your head increases, pulling you directly down. You follow, lean back even before your mind can catch up with the unspoken order, bracing yourself on your elbows first. Once you lie down on the desk and your feet no longer touch the ground anymore, dangling in the air instead, you realise just how exposed and vulnerable you feel. 

(You love being vulnerable with him - he never made you regret it, and always ensured you were as safe as can be.)

A pleased smile flits over his lips as he looks down at you; then, Ares cups your face in his hands and leans down to kiss you, fingers softly brushing over your cheek, your eyebrows, your neck. If it weren't for the insistent pressure from his lips, you'd call this chaste, but together with your position - well, it's anything but. Your back arches as you try to close the gap between the two of you, chasing the heat and weight of his body. Ares, steadfast as ever, doesn't let you. 

"Steady now," he murmurs against your lips, "there is no need for us to hurry, is there?"

Isn't there? You lift your head to glance at the clock behind him, slightly out of breath, and oh, you must have slept for far longer than you gave yourself credit for. Only ten minutes left to your lunch break, and it's not enough, not nearly enough. In response to your confused frown, Ares chuckles, kisses your forehead, brushes over your temple. 

(Whenever he laughs, your Ares lowers his head and closes his eyes for a moment. Sometimes, this means he’ll lean his head against your shoulder, and you treasure those moments like no other.) 

"Let me worry about that," he says, waits for your nod, then kisses you again. You resist the temptation to wrap your legs around him to pull him closer, but there’s still a coiled knot in the pit of your stomach and you need- there are too many endings to that sentence. You just need.

Among those endings: to sink your teeth into Ares’ lips. You don’t wish to cause him pain, the other way round is much more preferable to you, but it’s all the release from the nameless want that you can get, and your Ares knows and takes the trade. He lets you, just as you let his hand wander down over your body, shivering when he brushes over the new marks on your neck, past your chest and stomach. Expectantly, you tilt your hips up, but Ares doesn’t go any lower, instead untucking your shirt and slipping underneath the silken fabric. His touch on your bare skin is too much, perfect, not enough, not nearly enough. 

With his other hand, still resting on your cheek, Ares presses down on your chin before breaking away from the kiss. You let him go, even as a hungry whine breaks free from your throat. 

“Beautiful,” Ares says quietly before straightening up. For a split second, you attempt to rise after him, but he squeezes your waist, and gives you a stern glance. With a sigh, you sink back down. 

(There's no need for him to tell you anything: the light pressure of his thumb on your skin carries his order better than words ever could.) 

His hands leave your cheek and side, and you want them back, you desperately want to touch him - you want anything he’ll choose to give you. Until then, you bite down on your own hand, seeking release in the intensity, then take two of your fingers into your mouth and suck on them.

There’s an amused note to Ares’ exhale as he looks down at you. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his eyes don’t leave yours even for a moment while he takes off his jacket speaks volumes. You take this opportunity to unlace the cuffs of your shirt. When he leans back over you, caging you in between his forearms, you notice he has rolled up his sleeves. 

You swallow; his eyes follow that movement. 

(Your eyes follow his.)

Once more, he brushes a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. “Now,” he murmurs, “whatever shall I do with you, hm?”

You don’t respond: It wasn’t a question to begin with, and there was, there is still no need for you to speak. Ares will make a decision on his own, and you can trust that you won’t be able to resist whatever he’ll offer you in the end. You can already barely resist the sound of his voice, the way he whispers all those words into the shell of your ear, punctured by the occasional kiss and bite.

(He has a beautiful voice, your Ares, one you can get lost in for all eternity.)

Ares takes your right hand by the wrist, then your left, before placing them over your head. His fingers snake a line along the slit in your cuffs, and again, you shiver. Ares is on top of you, pinning you down with what is barely more than a feather's touch, and your back arches towards him

When Ares hums, the low tone reverberates in your chest. “Now," he says,"I could certainly hold you down myself, use that pretty scarf of yours to tie you up as I fuck you…” 

(The scarf he means is draped over your chair, has been ever since you came into the office this morning. You were going to cover your well-bitten neck with it later, but oh, the possibilities hiding Ares' words: To you, they taste of wonderful promises, of tempting secrets, of the tantalising uncertainty before a plunge from almost-too-high-up. Your heartbeat drums in your ears.) 

Ares' pupils are wide when he looks at you. “Or… would you hold still for me, if I asked you to? ” he asks, hooking two fingers under your chin. 

You shiver as he tips your head up, close your eyes for a few seconds. You don’t nod, you don’t shake your head - you hold still. A language of your own, and a language that your Ares speaks and understands like no other.

“Ah," he says, voice pleased, "of course you would. You always do, always so good for me - and so eager, too.” His thumb swipes over your lips, softly, so softly. 

Oh, and Ares must know just how tempted you are to open them and let him in - gods, you want nothing more than to swallow around his fingers, draw your tongue and teeth over his skin, taste him - you hold still, and a pleased smile spreads over Ares' face. As you lie before him, his gaze trails over your entire body: from your crossed wrists down over your face, your now-tangled hair, your exposed neck, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, your stomach and waist and hips and arched back, your legs- 

Ares hooks his hand behind your knee and lifts it up before placing your foot on the desk. You put up the smallest of token resistances, gasp a laugh when he obliges and keeps his hand around your ankle - even as his thumb keeps stroking smoothing circles. It's a caring gesture, and so it's all the more offset by the faint glow in his eyes, firmly locked with yours. And Ares is slow, agonisingly slow as ever when he presses a kiss to your knee. Another, just barely higher up, then another, the fabric of your clothes standing in the way all the while. When a desperate whine escapes from your throat, Ares reaches up towards your hands; you lace your fingers with his. 

(He's tall compared to everyone, your Ares, and especially so compared to you, but you don’t mind - for that matter, neither does he.)

Ares slows even more, then stops, and you whimper. In response, he exhales sharply. 

“If we were not in my office right now,” he says, “I would keep you here until you scream. You always give me such an exquisite gift when you let me hear your voice, have I told you that already?”

He has, of course he has, and you love hearing it. 

Ares squeezes lightly around your ankle. “I ought to tell you more often still, I think.” Another kiss to your thigh, higher up. Then another, and he’s still not where you want him to be. You whimper quietly. “But alas, that is not an option available to us here.”

He doesn’t seem too upset about it. Maybe he just wanted a reason to praise you, you think. 

(He does so love doing that, your Ares. There are occasional weekends, filled with sleep and warm sunlight coming in through your bedroom curtains in the late afternoon, where he'll murmur golden truths until they seep into your skin.) 

(There are even rarer weekends, filled with rain and thunderstorms, where he'll let you return the gesture.) 

“Oh, if only you could see yourself right now," Ares says quietly, hand moving up your leg. "You're a most exquisite sight to behold."

You think of mirrors against your bedroom wall, of Ares fucking you from behind and holding your head up by your hair so you could see your reflection, and feel blood rushing to your cheeks. 

Ares glances at you, eyes creasing as he notices the flush on your face. “And if only you knew how badly I wish I could turn you on your stomach and fuck you like you deserve, hm?” 

A wounded noise escapes your chest. This is something you wouldn’t hesitate to beg him for, no, you want to beg, because he always makes it good for you, your Ares - but before you can open your mouth, Ares shakes his head and silences you with a soft kiss.

“As much as I would love to do that,” he says, “and trust me, I would very much like to… I have other plans in store for you. More practical ones, too, if you would be so inclined as to follow my lead.”

You sigh into the kiss, nod, moan when he bites your lip, because when haven't you been?

You straighten your leg upon his gesture and sit back up; once more, Ares brushes through your hair, and when he unhooks your belt, you lift your hips so he can pull your clothes down. 

Cold air drifts over your exposed skin together with Ares' gaze, and with a start, you realise that the fabric around your knees binds your legs together. Your heart soars, then drops down to your stomach and below until you can feel your pulse between your thighs, and you lean back with a keening moan. 

Ares steps closer, steading you with his hand on your back - his other, meanwhile, strokes up your legs, chases your pulse until it finds pooling heat. You gasp quietly as he draws his fingers over your sensitive skin, then louder when Ares coats them with your slick, thumb circling your clit. And this, this is what you’ve wanted and what you’ve been yearning for all this time: to fall from the precipice, and fall and sink and drift and-

Ares pushes a finger inside your entrance, agonisingly slow, pulls back out, keeps going as your legs strain against the fabric, adds a second finger soon. You whimper, lean your head against his chest. His other hand moves down to the small of your back, keeping you close, keeping you still, catching you, blocking every attempt to retreat - but you're rocking into Ares' thrusts anyway, you wouldn't want to pull back even if you could. He hums when he notices, voice deep and heated, begins to support and respond to your motions in kind. Three fingers, eventually, curling inside every time. 

You gasp when you feel the cold metal of Ares's ring against your entrance for the first time, but Ares doesn't relent, waits until the steel has warmed up against your body - then, he adds that finger, too, and you whine and buck your hips against his hand. Your hands, previously holding on to the edge of the desk now brush along Ares’ sides, his stomach, trace over the outline of his cock through his clothes. He replies with a low growl, the thrusts of his fingers get faster and rougher and oh, if that is what it takes, you’ll be more than happy to oblige, more than happy to push back. 

As you stroke along his length, the hand on your back curls into a fist, dragging sharp fingernails along your skin. Another moan from you, and there’s a pull in your thighs and stomach, a growing tension, and gods, you’re close, you’re so close, you just need Ares to give you a little more, you’re almost there-

Ares mutters an endearment, the one reserved for you and nobody else, and you reply with a quiet whimper: Yes, you're here, you're listening, you'll wait. 

“Look at me,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “Let me see what I’ve done to you.” The hand on your back moves up, tracing along your spine, and comes to rest between your shoulder blades. "Please."

There's a raw desperation behind that plea; as you lean back, leaving the familiar darkness and warmth of Ares' body, you look up at him. Then, you cup his face in your hands and return all the soft gestures he has bestowed upon you. His hands keep moving, fucking you with vicious thrusts, the other soothing over your back, and you feel like you might turn to ash from the intensity of his gaze. 

You clench around his fingers with a feverish moan, you're so close, and it's when Ares leans forward to kiss your forehead, your temple, your jaw, when he bites down softly on your neck and smoothes over the spot with his tongue that you come. And still, Ares keeps going, drawing one moan after another from you. 

A few tears run down your cheeks. When Ares finally slows down, you attempt to wipe them off, but catches your wrist to kiss your damp fingers, collecting your tears with a fond exhale and hunger in his gaze. You chuckle quietly, and once he pulls out his hand, you return the gesture. His fingers are sticky in a way yours weren't, and you take them into your mouth to lick them clean. Ares chuckles, too, but lets you, encourages you, pushes his fingers in and out of your mouth. You continue even after you’ve taken in all that tastes of you, holding on to his wrist, and Ares hooks his thumb under your chin to tilt your head up.

“It seems the two of us have rather similar visions in mind,” he says, eyes crinkling with amusement. “After all, I have still been unattended to. What say you we put that mouth and tongue of yours to good use, hm?”

Blood rushes to your cheeks; you nod. So that, you realise, is what Ares meant earlier when he talked of practical solutions. No mess to clean up, no stains to worry about - not if you do your job correctly.

(You always do.)

Ares sits down on a nearby chair, crossing one leg over another, then beckons you towards the floor in front of him. You kneel as soon as you get off the desk, allowing the carpet to burn against your skin while you move over to him; Ares, meanwhile, uncrosses his legs and pushes his trousers down for his cock to spring free. He strokes himself lazily with one hand, head leaning against the other, and as your eyes follow his movements, you feel his fond, half-lidded gaze on you.

Once you’re kneeling between his legs, you glance up at him briefly, then take his hand and guide to your hair. His grip is loose this time, just enough to hold your hair back, not enough to do anything else, and so you decide to take it slow. Not agonisingly, teasingly slow like Ares was with you - no, you just draw it out enough to give Ares the full pleasure, make him lose his composure. Slowly, you lick over the head of his cock, smirking as you feel his hand tighten in your hair, then you travel down to the base. Above you, Ares lets out a sharp exhale, and you hum in appreciation.

(Perhaps, you think, this is a sweet revenge from your side, after all. He loves to unravel and unmake you, your Ares, but rare and precious are the moments where he lets you do it in return.) 

Eventually, you take his cock into your mouth, sucking on the tip first, swirling your tongue around it. When you glance up, you see Ares lean his head back with a groan, exposing his neckline. Beautiful. You smile; you keep going. And there’s always that sweet, vulnerable moment when his voice starts coming through every breath of his. 

(Strained and involuntary, this gesture, and you love it with all your heart.) 

When his dick hits the back of your throat, you swallow around it, hold for a moment, then ease off, and above you, Ares growls. You repeat the movement, use your hands to pin his hips down to the chair, looking up at him all the while until his eyes, drifting through the room, meet yours. 

Then, you wink, your heart fluttering with a delightful nervousness, and time seems to stand still for a moment.

Steeling yourself is all you can do, because next thing you know, Ares’ hand in your hair tightens, and he pushes your head down on his cock without any further mercy. Ares keeps your head down, waits until he hears you choke and moan around him, then roughly pulls you back up. You’re given a moment to catch your breath before he keeps going, controlling the pace at which he fucks into your throat. Of course, you could always tap out on his thigh, of course you could - but your hands are much better used for stroking yourself to another approaching orgasm, for feeling the way Ares’ muscles tense as his own climax begins to draw near.

He’s not as loud as he could be, your Ares, but you’re still in his office, and so you’ll take whatever strangled groans from him you can get. Your own are hoarse, muffled by his cock on your tongue, and so there is no need for you to hold back.

It doesn’t take either of you very long - just as you feel yourself clenching around your fingers, Ares pulls your head up just enough to finish in your mouth instead of your throat. A bitter and metallic taste spreads on your tongue, and you swallow his come, making sure not a single drop escapes your lips. You yourself are still floating on the bliss of your second climax, and so you pull off slowly. There’s a certain amount of pride, too, to seeing Ares breathe heavily, chest rising and falling. Ares lets go of your hair, then leans forward to pull you into his lap. You follow with a smile, leaning your head against his shoulders. His arms wrap around you, and there’s a kiss against your forehead that speaks of warmth and comfort and safety.

“Wonderful,” Ares murmurs - and he may not always be a man of many words, your Ares, but you know him well enough to know that this one word was directed at you.

+++

You ask him, later, once you regain a clear mind, about the unplanned extension of your lunch break. Because truly, isn’t it strange that nobody disturbed you, didn’t even knock on the door or tried to open it? 

Ares just throws his head back and laughs. “Ah,” he says, good-natured. “you still have not figured it out, then.”

You watch him take out his pocket watch, then point towards the clock on the wall: there’s a difference of one hour between those two, and your brows furrow as you try to solve the puzzle. It’s when you remember your unusual exhaustion this morning, your yearning for a missing hour, that all the gears fall into place. 

Right. Somehow, in all the stress and rush of your work, you completely forgot about daylight saving time and, with the clock not yet adjusted, started your break one hour too early. 

(Well. You don’t particularly mind the outcome of that, and for what it’s worth, neither did Ares.)

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so somehow this turned into the most tender and domestic thing possible and you know, I'm very very happy about that. Come say hi to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/OfBleedingInk) and pay a visit to [Hel](https://twitter.com/leonorel7), too, they're absolutely amazing!
> 
> For fun, here are my tag outtakes: "Reader is nonverbal so I guess you can read this as Charon POV"; "For once Daylight Saving Time actually saves the day"; "There are separate tags for Office Sex, Office Blow Jobs, and Under-The-Desk-Blowjobs apparently"; "But there is no tag for that specific horny brand of touch-starved"
> 
> Do feel free to leave a comment, they're always really motivating and uplifting for me - I'm fluent in keysmash, too, so knock yourself out!


End file.
